


Welcome to the Neighbourhood

by thefoxesfriend



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Backstory, Cecil Headcanons, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Gen, Headcanon, Inspired by Welcome to Night Vale, Kid Cecil, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Steve Carlsberg is a Jerk, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, head canons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefoxesfriend/pseuds/thefoxesfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Cecil hate Steve Carlsberg so much? Why does Old Woman Josie talk to angels? Why did Cecil's Mom tell him that he'll be killed by a mirror? One fateful child's birthday party explains everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Neighbourhood

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is re-worked from an earlier fic. It's basically a Welcome to Night Vale backstory. Thanks for reading, and any and all feedback is welcome:)

 

Cecil was in a good mood. It was halfway through his morning broadcast.

He was just getting to some important news about an altercation between a hooded figure and a wayward eternity scout that had taken place in front of the ruins of the library, when something small and cube-shaped materialized onto his workstation. Cecil knew because he nearly squished it with his elbow when he went to lean on his desk.

“What? That wasn’t there before…”

"Hello, listeners,” he said. “I am very excited to tell you that I have received a mysterious package from...well I don't know, actually. There is no label on it besides 'To: Cecil' written in the blackest ink in perfect gothic script on a small paper tag tied with string around the middle. Listeners, I would say that I had a secret admirer, but something tells me it's from a certain dark-haired and surprisingly romantic scientist that I have recently become very…uh intimately acquainted with."

Cecil picked up the small brown-paper wrapped package and shook it with the glee of a small child on Christmas morning. His third eye grew bright and lightened from a dark purple to a pale violet.

“Ooooh Carlos you are the best boyfriend ever! I just _love_ presents!” He said excitedly.

Carefully, Cecil unwound the string around the box, and removed the brown paper packaging with his slender, white fingers, to reveal… another box. At least it looked like another box. But this one was completely black. In fact, black did not do it justice. It was covered in blackness so dark that it swallowed all light, and due to its resistance to reflection, its edges were not even visible, so when Cecil turned it over curiously in his fingers, it looked like a series of black-hole shaped prisms, and it appeared to flatten itself out under his touch...

“Well listeners, this is a surprise!” He said. “It looks like someone has given me an anti-mirror! I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid!”

Cecil was humming with delight, and he playfully tossed the small object, which apparently was now a cube again, into the air and caught it again. Then, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and cradled the thing to his chest. He was reminiscing now.

“Ahhh those were the days!”

“Do you know I had this friend once, his name was Alex, and I’m pretty sure he got one of these for his 12th birthday (I mean his 12th birthday in this reality. Alex split his time between these two parallel universes…it was some kind of custody thing when his parents split up so he spent like half of his time here and half in this other plane of existence and whenever he came back he wouldn’t speak for like three days and he was always covered in this sticky black tar-like stuff. Everyone teased him for it. Kids can be so cruel.)

“It’s funny that I seemed to have completely forgotten it until now, but Alex, that _jerk_ Steve Carlsberg, and I were friends together at Night Vale Middle School. After Alex’s birthday was over, the three of us stayed back at his house for a sleepover party. Alex took out the anti-mirror, which his mother had given him, for a closer look, although back then we didn’t know that it was an anti-mirror. We just thought that it was one of those boring practical presents that parents always like to give to you. 

Steve Carlsberg did, though. That jerk knew _all_ about it. In fact, he told Alex about the anti-mirror ritual, including, of course, the rhyme, except that _Steve Carlsberg_ switched around a few choice words.” 

“What was that he told him?” Cecil nearly spat out the rest.

 

_“Turn him thrice to see your face,_

_Blink three times and his spirit wakes,_

_Tell a lie and it may come true_

_But wish to anti-mirror and it’ll be the last thing you ever do…”_

****

“God! What a _jerk_!”

Cecil took a deep breath to reign in some of his anger so he was able to continue. 

“When Alex found out that if he lied to the anti-mirror, his lie would come true, he was so happy. I can still picture his face, still smudged with remnants of sticky black tar, sitting up cross-legged in his sleeping bag with the wide expanse night sky hanging over us, dotted with a million galaxies and stars. In that moment, sitting there cradling that black thing with that twinkle in his eye, he looked like part of the universe.” 

 _God_ I miss you sometimes, Alex.

Cecil sniffled and wiped away a viscous black tear from the bridge of his nose. He took off his foggy glasses and cleaned them on an area of his shirt before delicately replacing them with his slender fingers and composing himself with another shuddering breath so he was able to go on.

“Anyway, I remember what happened next like it was yesterday…”

_“Cecil, Steve!” Alex cried out. “Do you know what this means?” Alex nearly bounced in his spot, sending his mushroom-cut of brown hair flopping. He was small for his age, and wore a T-shirt covered in stripes, evidently not bothered by the chilly night air. “No, what?” Steve Carlsberg asked, innocence written all over his wide blue eyes and fat freckled cheeks. He was wrapped in an oversized jacket, with the sleeves rolled up so he could make use of his hands._

_“Hmmm? What was that Alex?” Cecil had been absorbed in the spectacular view above him, where the air was clear and the glow clouds were bright. With Cecil’s almost ghostly translucent pale skin, he looked like he was moulded from the same material as the lights that he was watching shine overhead.  In hearing Alex speak, his normal two eyes returned to earth and back into the conversation. The third eye on his forehead was still following the trail of a shooting star that disappeared behind a particular section of the glow cloud that was pulsing green and purple._

_“It means I can get my parents back together! No more stupid custody fights and being dragged to that weird place with the black tar pits and no more teasing from idiots at school. I can have a normal home again. I can have a family again.” There were nearly tears in his eyes. He couldn’t wait to get started. “Wow Alex, that’s great!” Cecil seemed to have suddenly gathered up all of Alex’s excitement, as if my osmosis. “I’m so happy for you!” Alex beamed in response._

_“How does it go again, Steve?”_

_“The first line is ‘turn it thrice to see your face.’” Steve Carlsberg replied. “That means first you have to turn it three times.”_

_“OK.” Alex carefully turned the black box three times, counting in a whisper to make sure he got the words exactly right._

_“Wow, it worked!” In the dim light of the display overhead, he could just make out his pale, slim face and wide eyes staring back at him from what had just become a seemingly normal mirror._

_“OK and next I have to blink?” Alex asked. “Wait I think I’ve already been blinking. Have I blinked enough, guys?” His hands that were holding the mirror suddenly felt funny to him. The mirror seemed to be giving off a strange, low-grade vibration. Or a tremble. The blurry movement of his wrists made him nervous, but he was determined to continue on. He also had the sense that it was too late to go back. “Uh…does this mean its spirit is awake?” He asked uncertainly._

_Now, all three of Cecil’s eyes had gone wide. Steve Carlsberg egged Alex on. “Yeah, don’t worry Alex,” he said. “That definitely means it’s working.”_

_“OK, so now I just have to lie, right? And the lie will come true?” “Yep, go for it, Alex,” Steve said. “OK.” Alex took a deep breath, and while the other two looked on, he said in a clear, confident voice, “I don’t want my parents back together. Ever.”_

_There was silence as all three stared at the anti-mirror, waiting to see what would happen next, but nothing did. At least, not that night. Convinced that the anti-mirror needed at least a day to make its magic work, the three friends nestled themselves into their sleeping bags, said their goodnights, and fell into blissful, dreamless sleep in their small desert town, oblivious to the greatest light show in the universe still playing itself out overhead._

Twenty-four hours later, Alex was gone. He had simply vanished. His parents did end up reuniting very briefly, but it was only in grief over their lost son. Cecil was horrified at the loss of his friend, and he knew, deep down that it all had to do with that night – their last night together and with the ritual that Steve Carlsberg had planted in Alex’s head, but Cecil was also child of Night Vale, and he instinctively knew that suspicions are not to be investigated, but they are to be buried and forgotten so they can eventually become part of the fabric of mystery that protects and enshrouds the desert town. 

His suspicions, if he was able to keep them, were confirmed the very next day. The morning after Alex had vanished, Cecil stopped by his house on the way to school so they could make their way to the bus stop together. Seeing that his friend wasn’t waiting outside as usual, Cecil knocked on the door, wondering what was holding him up on that particular morning. Hearing no answer, he tried the handle and was surprised to find that the door was unlocked. Careful not to disturb any other inhabitants of the household, whether human or otherwise, he crept inside and tiptoed up the stairs to Alex’s room. The door was ajar, so Cecil pushed it open, wondering if he was still asleep or perhaps he had fallen ill from their night sleeping outdoors. But Alex’s room was empty, filled only with the eerie absence of its owner. With that familiar crush of horrified dread that he usually got at least once a day, Cecil walked over to the bed, where a small, black box lay resting on Alex’s pillow. It was the anti-mirror – still, peaceful and back in its former form. Cecil strongly felt that he shouldn’t touch it, or even look at the thing for very long, so he moved his eyes away, where they rested on Alex’s beside table. A card sat there, open for him to read:

_To my dear son,_

_I know that this year has been a hard one, and I’m sorry.  I thought that this year I’d get you a special gift that will hopefully make things a little easier. It comes with a few words, which I’ll now pass on to you._

_Turn him thrice to see your face,_

_Blink three times and his spirit wakes,_

_Make a wish and it may come true,_

_But lie to anti-mirror and it’ll be the last thing you ever do._

_Happy Birthday._

_Love always,_

_Mom_

At that moment, Cecil knew that Alex wasn’t going to walk with him to the bus stop that day, or any day ever again. He left silently, careful not to disturb anything in the room, which now felt like a memorial to his dead friend. He made the rest of the journey to school alone, in a quiet depression that would gradually lift as his thoughts and feelings underwent Night Vale’s natural processes of repression.

He never thought to question why after that day, Alex’s Mom, whose name was Josie; began speaking to angels. No one in Night Vale knew that the moment Josie realised that her son was lost to her forever because of the gift that she had given him; she tried in her grief and guilt to wish him back to her on the same thing that had taken him away. And no one in Night Vale knew that her wish failed because his body had already been devoured by whatever greedy horror lived in the black depths of the anti-mirror, and, of course, the anti-mirror cannot undo what it’s already done. They also didn’t realise that after that, desperate Josie made another wish - a wish for a means of communicating with the spirit of her dead son.

At first, the angels simply relayed messages about how Alex was doing up in heaven, but as it turns out; heaven is not always heaven for the people who work there. Over the years, more and more angels would come down once they found out there was someone on earth who they could not only speak to, but who would also listen to them vent about all their problems with their fellow angels, and the bureaucratic nonsense and hierarchical infighting that always occurred when running an operation of that size. It also helped that Josie’s house had very comfortable armchairs and a seemingly unlimited amount of tea, which she always served to them with her homemade shortbread biscuits. As it also turns out, heaven had a biscuit shortage, and since the customer always comes first, that meant there wasn’t much left over for the employees. Plus, it was just so nice to be _served_ for once. Selflessness is incredibly tiring.

Josie herself was never bothered about the gossip that she was mad.  She didn’t even care that people constantly told her “there was no such thing as angels.” Old Woman Josie may have lost her son, but she had found a family.

In Cecil’s world, the only remnants of these events were his seemingly irrational hatred of his former friend, who became curiously attached to him in turn after Alex’s disappearance, and the soft spot he retained for Old Woman Josie and her angels. That is, of course, until something triggered his memory, partially eroding the walls of denial that lined Cecil’s brain as a lifetime citizen of Night Vale, something like a gift, from an old friend. Little did he know that on this very day, his mother’s ominous words would come true. _"Mark my words, child: someday someone will kill you, and it will involve a mirror… **"**_


End file.
